Page 13 of Owned Bratva Bride

“Marielle! Get in!” she called from the front window.

I hadn’t settled in my seat when she asked, “What did you get yourself involved in this time? It’s just your first week, Marielle.”

“Is there really any point in asking?” my brother inquired.

While he was my least favorite person in the world, I agreed with him.

“Don’t think I was joking when I told you this is the last time I’ll have you transferred. Any more misbehavior, you’ll find yourself waiting on people in restaurants.”

“I didn’t misbehave. Some classmates cornered me and just started hitting me,” I defended.

“Am I supposed to believe you did nothing to bring it upon yourself?”

“I did nothing.”

“So, when they came at you, why didn’t you remove yourself from the place?”

“Run away? From girls my age?”

“Yes, Marielle. If they are not proper ladies, you behave as one. If they come at you tomorrow and the day after, what do you do?”

“Learn how to fight. That’s what I’ll do.”

“Are you joking?” she queried, turning to face me with a grimace.

“Actually, I didn’t think of it before now. I want to learn MMA, Mom.”

My brother snorted beside me.

“Tell me you’re not talking about mixed martial arts,” she replied.

I nodded in the affirmative.

“Marielle! Must you always be a thorn in our sides? Not even your brother is planning to learn martial arts. You’re a lady, for chrissakes,” she practically yelled.

Whenever she started her hysterics—which was every time—my perfect response was silence. This time was no exception.

As she went on, I thought of my rescuer. The guy who would become my first fight instructor.

I’d beg him if I had to.

At least until I found a gym where I could learn MMA.

***

The first thing I felt was the heaviness of my eyes. I couldn’t tell if I was awake or asleep, or if my body was moving or not.

Just as I slipped out of one dream-like memory, I slipped into another.

***

“So? What do you think?” Justin asked, smiling at me.

I dropped the half-empty glass of the drink he promised I’d like.

“It’s…nice. It feels strong, though,” I answered. “Not second date material.”

He chuckled.